


Last Dance

by farrah_yondale



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: 14k words of salt, F/F, Gen, Selectively Mute Link, Trans Character, i really fuckin copped out at the end sorry, mean girls reference, this was supposed to be short and i just got invested in OCs sobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farrah_yondale/pseuds/farrah_yondale
Summary: Donning that hideous excuse of clothing, Link tries to sneak into Gerudo Town, only to faint halfway from Kara Kara Bazaar. When two women find him and take him into their home, Link's memories of the past begin to resurface and he plans to meet up with Riju and calm Vah Naboris.(Sick of Aonuma's shit? Then this is the fic for you, featuring: completely un-subtle criticism of every racist thing in the game, a sassy bearded Gerudo who doesn't take white women's shit, clothes that wouldn't kill a brown woman in 0.5 seconds under the sun, actually doing something interesting with the game's lore and cute Link-Gerudo bonding.)





	Last Dance

 

Gerudo Desert is a wide expanse of beige nothingness, laying bare and vulnerable to the unrelenting sunlight. Its earth offers no life to the hardy sand seals who subsist on its shrubbery and occasional rainfall, and its skies offer nothing but an open canvas for the sun to paint its harsh strokes over.

But Gerudo Desert is her home.

Efe rubs a soaked sleeve across her cheek, daring to look up towards the bright midday sun. Just on the horizon lies her home town, and she’d be damned if she allowed herself to faint this close to the place. She pauses only to allow her spouse and child to catch up behind her.

Her wife Mehru edges over the sand dune with their child’s palm in one hand and her long skirts in the other. When the wind whips up a short gust, she uses the long, flowing sleeve of her dress to shield her daughter’s eyes. Efe, on the other hand, just turns her back towards the wind, using her large knapsack of merchant goods as a buffer. The gust is a short relief when the sand doesn’t sting her eyes.

It’s been years since any of them set foot in their home town, and having adjusted to the cooler climates of the highlands and the fields, all of them struggle in this spring heat.

“Too hot for you, is it, Efe?” Mehru teases. She only straggles because of the whining three year old she drags along. Otherwise, Efe knows how much Mehru revels in this ridiculous heat.

Efe opens her mouth to retort but stops herself when she catches sight of something shimmering a few paces in front of her. She knows Mehru has just caught sight of it, too, when Efe stays silent. She would never allow her wife to get away with taunting her so easily.

Splayed across the desert sand is—presumably—a Hylian, body half-covered in bright cloth and gaudy trinkets. From the slight rise of their chest, Efe surmises they must at least be somewhat alive.

“At least you’re not that poor soul, eh, Efe?”

Efe ignores her when she has a more pertinent question at the edge of her tongue. “It’s been three years and they still…?

“Poor boy,” Mehru muses, crouching over him. Unlike her partner, Mehru prefers the long traditional dresses of the Gerudo rather than the loose, wide sirwal that Efe wears. She uses that long dress now to lazily fan the unconscious Hylian.

Dalia, however, has an entirely different viewpoint on the whole situation. She giggles, slapping her hands over her mouth and then points, squealing, “Why is she naked!”

When her mothers give her a flat look, she just continues to giggle mischievously.

Mehru prods the young Hylian. He stirs slightly.

“Well, he’s alive,” she says pointedly. “More than I can say for you, dear Efe.”

“Fine of you to notice,” Efe finally snaps back. “Then you won’t mind lugging him back home all on your own?”

Mehru knows she’s walked herself into a trap and can only relent under her wife’s scrutiny.

“ _Fine_ ,” she agrees, standing and folding her arms, as if to make a statement. “But only because you’re carrying that huge weight on your back. Dalia, you can walk, right?”

Dalia doesn’t agree at all and lifts her arms up at her mother. “You can carry me, too.”

Mehru squints. Efe just laughs.

 

Link wakes up to a Gerudo on top of his face.

From what he surmises (given that he can’t see a thing) she’s a toddler and has recently decided that this newcomer will be at the mercy of her childish whims. He feels small fingers tug at his lips and little squeal of, “Play with me!”

Reflexively, Link sits up spluttering and sends the child to the floor, wailing.

The loud thud brings the attention of two flustered Gerudo women, who come rushing into the room through a parted curtain. One, who wears an intricate ensemble, runs immediately to comfort the child. The other, who is dressed in far simpler attire—a plain white tunic with a matching wide sirwal—turns to Link with pressed lips, folding her arms as if contemplating what meal to cook tonight.

For a moment, Link isn’t entirely sure why this Gerudo can’t seem to take her eyes off him, until he realizes she’s staring not at him but the clothes he wears. The veil he had donned is no longer draped over his face, but the top and the pants are as festive as he remembers before fainting from the desert heat.

“Another poor Hylian galled into the rumors of their kinsfolk,” the white clothed woman says. She lets out a sigh, pressing a thumb and a finger against her forehead. “Funny that they used to call us thieves, and now they make a business out of stealing money from their own kind.”

When Link tilts his head in confusion, the woman just bursts into laughter.

“Oh come now,” she snickers. Her lips twitch, trying to cover up a mischievous smile. “We all know you’re a Hylian man.” Link tries to hide the flush over his cheeks by lowering his head, desperately wishing for that veil back. “Though it’s certainly not because of your physical attributes. Goddess be damned if I could ever tell the difference between a Hylian voe or a vai, right Mehru?”

“Efe.” The other Gerudo’s voice is monotonous. “Please restrain from using such language in front of Dalia.”

Dalia, however, doesn’t seem at all perturbed by her mother’s use of crude language and points instead to Link, squeaking, “She’s naked!”

“Dalia!” The long robed Gerudo chides, holding up a threatening finger at her daughter. “That’s not very nice.” And instead of dealing with the child’s protests, she hauls her up on her shoulder and decides the best course of action is to leave this situation before much more offensive things are said.

That just leaves Efe still staring contemplatively at the ground. When she’s done musing about whatever it is, she lifts her chin out of her hand and smiles at Link. He watches as she collapses into the sofa beside her, letting out the long sigh of someone who has just finished working out in the field.

“I’m surprised, boy,” she finally says, hunching over her knees. “For someone who claims to be a Champion, I would have thought you a little more sensible.”

Link’s mouth reflexively opens into a gasp, and Efe just laughs. “That tunic in your knapsack,” she explains. “We did have our own Champion a century back and she wore something similar.”

Turning back to the subject at hand, namely, the subject of Link’s outlandish getup, she continues, “Don’t you know better than to walk around in the desert in _that_?”

Link shuffles uncomfortably under her scrutiny, choosing instead to look down passively at his hands. It does little to quell his anxiety, however, when he sees the wide gossamer sleeves and gold bangles adorned over him, seeing as that is the subject at hand.

“Let me guess, boy,” Efe goes on, leaning back and crossing her arms. It seems like she’s in the mood to roast him as thoroughly as the sun had this afternoon. “Some Hylian sold you that outfit for an outrageous price, telling you the only way to get into town would be to wear it. Oh yeah, and they promised you it protects you from the heat.”

Link doesn’t say anything, but that’s enough to confirm her suspicions.

Efe laughs.

“All right, that’s enough.” The two of them are rudely interrupted by Mehru balancing a steaming platter of meat in one hand and clothes draped over the other. She drops the clothes on the bed next to Link and gestures to the door beside his bed. “Now get out of that hideous garment and put on some proper clothes. I will not have anyone wearing that crime against fashion under my house.”

When Efe looks like she’s about to titter, her wife chides, “And you, madam, can come eat food before you chew out our guest. The whole way back you were whining and crying for a proper meal and now that I’ve made dinner, you have no interest.”

Link slips out of the bed, taking his new garments with him and steps into the room Mehru had gestured to. There is only a faint bit of light entering the room, the source of which being a partially curtained window to his left.

Link tears himself out of the outfit he was wearing, throwing it with relief onto the floor. It had been tight and uncomfortable, and he had asked himself how anyone could ever wear such a thing under any circumstances that didn’t involve torture. The dress he throws over his head now is similar to Mehru’s, long and wide-sleeved with patterns of red etched along the top.

Already Link can feel the cool relief of cotton against his skin in contrast to the poorly-tailored silk he had just been wearing. And it doesn’t feel as awkward on his body, even if it is a dress that reaches the floor.

“Oh, my,” Mehru says as he exits the bedroom. “You’re much too short.”

Link can agree to that, having shuffled his way to where the two Gerudo sit.

But no one can really be bothered with how Link looks, as long as it isn’t horribly offensive to Mehru’s vision, not when there’s helpings of food on the floor.

Mehru, Efe and Dalia all sit around a square mat, legs crossed. Mehru opens up a woven basket to reveal a pile of fresh flatbread. She hands a piece to her daughter and then to Link and shares one with her wife.

The platter of grilled meat smells delicious and Link can’t help but be grateful that she places more pieces than he could possibly eat onto his plate.

“Well, go on, don’t be shy,” Efe says once everyone has food in their plate.

For a moment, Link just watches them all tear a piece of their bread and use it like a utensil to break off the meat. At first, he doesn’t know what to do and imitates the way they rip off the bread. And then he remembers something.

“Hey,” Efe says, noticing the deftness with which Link procures his food with his hands. “Have you ever eaten with Gerudo before?”

Link shrugs.

Mehru and her wife exchanges glances and break into smiles. “Maybe he was Gerudo in a past life.”

“You’d be surprised at the number of Hylians who can’t eat with their hands. It’s pathetic. Absolutely no etiquette at all.”

“It’s rude to talk while eating!” Dalia suddenly bursts out, holding an oily finger over her lips.

“You’re right, Dalia. Sorry,” Efe admits.

They eat the rest of their meal in silence. Link doesn’t mind, though, not when the savory flavors of Mehru’s cooking occupy most of his thoughts. It’s a welcome change from the bland grilled meat he hurriedly prepares for his survival. In fact it reminds him of…

“Hey, kid,” Efe starts. “Are you all right?”

Link blinks away tears. The entire family is staring at him, hands frozen in their plates. He glances between all of them, embarrassed, and nods, wiping his eyes with a sleeve.

“You sure?” Efe asks again, leaning back. Link nods again. She doesn’t look convinced, but she continues on with her meal. “Mehru we need to call Adhba. He’s not deaf, but…You can sign, boy, right?”

Link shakes his head, cheeks still flushed from the emotions.

Efe frowns, pulling her lips to the side. “Well, can you write? I can read Hylian.”

Link nods.

“Okay then. We’ll have a little chat after dinner, all right?”

Link nods.

Mehru and her wife exchange glances but don’t say anymore.

 

Dalia seems to be under some impression that everything is a climbing post.

Link can only sit quietly as she clambers over his shoulders, using his face for balance without any regard for whether he might need to use that part of his body at any point. When she finally pulls away, Efe has spread a long scroll of parchment over the floor and laid a pen on top.

“Okay, kid, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘kid.’”

Link letters—with some difficulty, given that he has to balance a child on his head—his own name.

“Link, huh?” she says, nodding. “Okay, Link, why were you crying earlier?”

Link shrugs at first but then realizes she might need a bit more of an explanation than that. He leans over to write and then hesitates, considering how much information to reveal. Most people don’t exactly believe what happened to him. _I am the Champion from 100 years ago. I was laid in a place to heal and woke up recently, and I have lost most of my memories_.

Link holds his breath as Efe looks over his answer.

“What does it say!” Dalia pipes up. Her mother ignores her and gives Link a thoughtful stare.

“A convenient story. Are you just trying to spare yourself the embarrassment of that hideous display from earlier?” she says, breaking into a grin. Link stares at his feet and frowns, trying to hide his embarrassment. When she leans back on locked arms, her attention drifts to a loose thread on the carpet. She fusses with it for a while and then continues, “That does explain the tunic in your bag, though. So…” Efe looks at him again, green eyes sparkling. “The fact that you can eat with your hands and the crying…you must have known Lady Urbosa then…”

Lady Urbosa. At the mention of her name, Link grows dizzy, eyes covered briefly by a haze. And then…

_“Lady Urbosa.”_

_In front of Link is a wide mat with platters and pots of food, lids and caps and utensils strewn about, like a wrecked forest after a storm. As much as Urbosa chides her children—biological and surrogate alike—they still make a mess of her dining mat. The only ones left at the table with her, so to speak, are Link and her equally polite daughter Riju, both of whom had actually waited for everyone to get their share before taking a bite of their meals._

_Urbosa, far more intent on finishing her dinner than attending to this stranger, doesn’t bother to turn. She gives him a non-committal grunt instead._

_“Lady Urbosa,” he repeats in a hushed whisper. “It’s urgent.” He slips a letter beside her._

_“What could be more urgent than feeding my children?” she booms. When she makes eye contact with Link, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief, he suddenly feels embarrassed._

_“Lady Urbosa, please,” he pleads again. Urbosa swallows what’s in her mouth. She inhales._

_“Fine,” she concedes, standing up straight from a cross-legged position. She turns to Link and Riju and says, “Finish up without me. I’ll be back.”_

_Link and Riju exchange looks as she exits the room._

_“Mama’s food is always so good,” Riju cries into another bite. Link laughs. He has to agree with that._

_When they finish, Urbosa still hasn’t returned. Riju had never been the talkative sort, choosing to stay silent when her other friends and family would carry long conversations. But in front of Link, she is always quick to voice her opinion, quick to express herself._

_“Shall we clean up?” she suggests, looking at the wreck before her._

_They pile the dishes on top of one another, carry them to the kitchen sink and begin the process of washing every bit of sauce and leftover meat on them. Riju is still so young, practically an infant by Gerudo standards, and needs to drag over a step-stool to reach the running water. As always the task of washing is up to Riju—she insists on it—while Link wipes them down and piles them neatly to the side._

_As Link dries down a plate, he feels Riju’s elbow digging into his shoulder. “Watch it,” she snaps, shoving him playfully. When he refuses to budge, she resorts to flicking water into his face. Link ducks with a chuckle and returns the favor. Riju flinches back, throwing up her palm and laughing. When the quarreling finally stops, the two of them make eye contact and dissolve into fits of giggles._

_“Hey, hey,” comes Urbosa’s voice. A hand parts the curtain separating the kitchen and living room. The two children glance back and see Urbosa’s wide grin, hands folded in front of her long tunic. She doesn’t give them a chance to dodge, catching both their necks in an elbow lock. “I didn’t tell you to clean up.”_

_As far as Link knew, Urbosa was the only mother in the world who would scold her children for_ doing _work._

_“Mama,” Riju squeals, still excited from the fight between her and her surrogate brother. “We left food for you.”_

_“Did you?”_

_Urbosa places a kiss on each of their heads._

_“I could never ask for better children.”_

 

When Link wakes up, it’s the middle of the night. He feels surprisingly snug under these covers, almost like he’s been in a household and a bed just like this one before. He snakes an arm over the sheets to position himself to his side and can feel the night chill over his skin.

Laying to the side of his bed is that Gerudo outfit Efe and Mehru had found him in. Purple and green with chains of gold sewn into it, it looks even gaudier with his memories of Urbosa back. He no longer feels shame, but anger. Efe’s frustration with him had once been his own with other outsiders.

Link hadn’t been born among the Gerudo, but a proper Hylian knight like him had to travel the world to better the use of his sword. He had visited many times—his father had also been a knight, he recalls, though the spot where his face should be is still blank—so he had known the place since he could remember. Whenever his father would leave for training expeditions, he would leave Link in the care of Urbosa, who treated him like she would her own son.

It was a common practice among the Gerudo to raise children that weren’t their own. The concept of family, of gender, of certain given things that Hylians and Sheikah retained were completely foreign to them. Indeed, the rumors of only women being born among the Gerudo were merely that. Gerudo had plenty of “men”. They just didn’t call them that.

Men had been barred from Gerudo Town because of the trouble they usually brought. Of course Hylians like knights in training and ambassadors were certainly allowed in. Even some merchants, with the proper clearance letters and spouses of Gerudo were permitted through the walls.

Unfortunately the barring of Hylian men had done little to actually keep them away from the city.

Link remembers the first time he had seen that outfit. On slower days, he and Zelda would sit over the walls and act as sentries. Usually, it meant Zelda pacing back and forth along the front wall, reciting knowledge from any books she could get her hands on with Link following her closely behind.

“Do you know how _advanced_ Gerudo medicine is?” Link almost fell off the wall when she stopped and swiveled around to face him. “The Mahajir tribe lists so many natural remedies for cures we don’t even have in Hyrule! They use to foxglove to treat heart failure! Oh, I really need to ask Urbosa if this actually works!”

And just like that, she continued on pacing as if she hadn’t almost knocked over her friend to his death.

Briefly after that outburst, Zelda stopped again, but this time she looked beyond the wall instead of at Link.

Zelda pulled up the veil over her head to see better. It seemed like she was just as doubtful of what she saw as Link was. Beyond the walls of the city, a handful of paces away stood a fair-skinned person in very little clothing. While there were certainly a number of Gerudo with that skin-tone, he had never seen one so woefully unprepared for the desert climate.

“It’s a wonder they haven’t had a sunstroke and died already,” Zelda said pointedly and then returned to bury her nose in her book.

But Link’s gaze could not seem to falter. It was like witnessing some impending doom. He watched with intent as this strange approached the guards at the gate. The two of them—Samira and Zena—looked rightfully suspicious.

“What is your business here?” Samira snapped, jabbing her spear into the sand. The sound muffled by the sand did little to intimidate outsiders, but even an amateur eye could see how formidable of a warrior she was even if layers of clothing covered up what were probably toned muscles underneath.

Link edged closer to the wall to see.

The sheer veil over the person’s face hid their expression, but their tone was clearly curt. “I’m a Gerudo woman!” they protested. “And you’re not letting me in?”

Samira and Zena exchanged one glance and their joint fury dissolved into condescending laughs. The veiled person furrowed their brow in frustration, but they said nothing. Once the two guards had finished, Samira finally wiped a tear from her eye and responded, “We’re supposed to believe you’re a Gerudo?” Zena snorted. “That’s like an assassin walking straight to the front gates of Hyrule Castle with a train of socks wrapped around their chest insisting they’re Hylian.” The image sent the two of them back into fitful laughter. Even Link had to conceal a snort.

The veiled person looked positively offended, but any protest they had left in them was quickly snuffed by the guards’ screeches of laughter.

“Try again,” Zena giggled, tapping the outsider with the butt of her spear.

The gender of the person had not been in question at first. The Gerudo had experienced more than a handful of women who hadn’t gotten the memo of what desert weather was actually like and ended up wearing something unsightly. But apparently a new trend had started among Hylians and Sheikah: for men to come in “disguised” as women.

After that, whenever Link saw anyone wearing a gaudy outfit like that, they were quickly sent away, or—on one particularly vindictive occasion—stabbed.

As such, the idea of wearing the thing himself sends Link into a spiral of shame.

Link turns in his bed. Any lasting dregs of sleep have completely evaporated. It’s astounding how he can be so wide awake in the middle of the night, more so than at any other time of day. He slips out of the sheets, heading instinctively towards the roof of the house. He hopes Efe and Mehru won’t mind.

When he reaches the entrance to the adobe, the door is already slightly ajar. Link’s first thought is _thief_ but he doubts a woman as sharp as Efe wouldn’t have already noticed by now if that were the case. Link twists towards the ladder beside the threshold, the answer to the looming door question hanging on the side of the roof.

Mehru sits along its edge, legs dangling and swaying back and forth like an antsy child’s. She doesn’t say anything to the top of Link’s head as he peeks out over the ladder. He hopes that’s an indication that she doesn’t mind and takes the seat beside her, staring out awkwardly at the sleeping city in front of him. While it was certainly quieter in the dead of night, Link couldn’t remember any instance where Gerudo Town was ever completely silent. Even now, small groups of Gerudo—probably with insomnia or that exciting urge to stay up late as teenagers—shuffle in the streets.

“You fainted,” Mehru starts without warning. “Dalia hit her head, but nothing she won’t recover from. Don’t feel guilty,” she adds, when Link hunches his shoulders. Whether she’s referring to accidentally leaving a bump on Dalia’s head or the shameful display earlier, Link isn’t sure. “It won’t do anyone any good.”

She sighs, leaning back and doesn’t say anything for a good while.

Unlike Efe who prefers to keep her hair wrapped in a turban, Mehru’s is long and thick and swells in the breeze. When the group of Gerudo wandering outside begin chortling and whacking each other playfully, she smiles slightly.

“I know you’re the champion who accompanied Princess Zelda here.”

Link doesn’t answer or ask how she knows this. He may have only been awake for a short while with a fraction of his prior memories, but he’s quickly learned that Hyrule is like this. That people find out things, know things, without having to be told. Maybe it has something to do with him being Champion.

“I need to hand in my paper in the morning,” she goes on. “But after that, I’ll take you straight to Queen Riju.”

 

Link wakes up to incessant chatter. At first he fears he’s fallen asleep in the wrong house or that he’s been kidnapped. Neither situation is enough cause for him to actually get out of bed in a panic, however. Especially not when he hears Dalia’s familiar screeches zooming across the living room.

“All right, get up!” The next second, Link finds himself without a blanket. He curls into a ball reflexively. An extra five minutes of sleep is worth Mehru’s chiding. “It’s midday and my guests have nowhere to sit. Up!”

“Up! Up!” Dalia screams, smacking Link’s butt.

“Dalia!” Mehru scolds. As Mehru’s voice disappears into the throng, Link assumes she’s carted her daughter off somewhere where she can’t enact violence on anyone. His relief doesn’t last for very long, however. Dalia’s assault on his person left him more awake than before, and the surrounding chatter doesn’t help to ease him back into the realm of unconsciousness.

When Link finally opens his eyes, he hardly finds himself surprised. Although the house is tailored only to provide for a small family, somehow Gerudo from every walk of life and age group have managed to shove themselves into this tiny adobe.

“Here you go.” Efe can apparently only spend a passing moment with Link, half-throwing a stick of toothbrush into his hands before running off into the kitchen. He shoves the bark into his mouth, chewing on it to squeeze the juice out and then rubs the frayed ends along his teeth.

After washing his face and tidying up, he returns to the living room where an old Gerudo woman introduces herself as Efe’s mother. She quickly dumps a platter of hot bread and chick peas into his arms and then returns to gossiping with the other old biddies.

Most of the crowd, to Link’s relief, doesn’t seem particularly interested in him at all. He’s finally rescued from all this when Mehru suddenly grabs his arm and drags him out the front door.

“We’re leaving,” she says to her wife, turning at the threshold. She holds Dalia under her armpit like she might carry around a rolled up carpet she just purchased at market. Dalia doesn’t seem to mind, however, and takes amusement by the way the bells around her ankles tinkle as she fidgets in her mother’s arms.

“You’re going to abandon me?” Efe cries.

“I warned you not to go out. Didn’t I tell you one of your relatives would find you?”

“What was I supposed to do? Dalia was screeching for ice cream, she was about to wake up Link!”

Mehru just gives her a pitiful glance and then places a kiss on her cheek. “I have to hand in my paper or I wouldn’t leave you.”

“I know,” Efe whines. She frowns like a wounded dog and waves goodbye to her wife and child as they head into the busy streets of Gerudo Town.

 

The second Link steps into the classroom, he knows he’s in trouble. That sinking feeling he would get when one of his tutors wanted a word with him privately—a feeling he hasn’t experienced for a hundred years—begins to develop in the pit of his stomach. The woman at the front of the room is clearly Hylian given the way she looks exactly like every severe female professor Link had had the misfortune to meet. Her painted lips are pressed into a frown, her glasses slip at the edge of her nose. Her hair is in a tight, meticulous and graying bun.

Of all manners of evil Link would have to defeat upon waking up, Link really thought this wouldn’t be one of them.

“Well,” the woman says, voice half a growl. Her lightning blue eyes pierce into him, like the sun is staring at him. Link tries to angle his head away to lessen the blow. “What do we have here? A Hylian?”

Link glances towards Mehru, hoping for some kind of solace, but she’s busy widening her eyes and gesturing at another woman standing at the front of the class. The woman, fair-skinned and wearing a long black robe, mouths back at her with just as much fervor. He can’t tell what Mehru had mouthed, but the robed woman indignantly replies back, _I didn’t know!_

“Sorry, Inspector,” Mehru begins, patting Link’s shoulder. “She’s mute.”

“I see,” the inspector says, folding her arms. “Well, she can hear, can’t she?” When Link nods, she swivels on her heels and makes her way back to her desk, leaning over with her fingers pressed against the table. “You can attend the class, then.”

Mehru hesitates. “Wait, but I just came in to hand my paper—”

“It’s important,” the inspector interrupts in a drawl. “That we maintain good Hylian-Gerudo relations. A Hylian should—”

She’s rudely interrupted by a snort in the back of the classroom, which quickly turns into a hacking cough.

“Vilia,” she snaps, addressing a veiled woman in the back corner. “Since you’re so eager to be involved, this young Hylian can come sit next to you.” She glances at Link. “What was your name again?”

“Link,” Mehru answers for him.

When the inspector gestures for him to take a seat, he gives Mehru a pleading glance. She must be far crueler than he imagined when she ignores him and murmurs, “I’ll be back for you in an hour.”

Link wants to cry.

The veiled woman’s eyes wrinkle as he takes the seat beside her. It’s rare for Link to see women in Gerudo Town wearing a long black veil over their face and he has to swallow down his curiosity. She doesn’t spare a second to start up a conversation, however.

“Hi, I’m Vilia,” she introduces as a whisper. “I think Inspector Maude said my name, but in case you don’t speak demon…”

“Vilia, hush!” the student next to Link whispers harshly.

“Ibekwe, you hush!” Vilia whispers back. “It’s not like the old biddy can even hear me when her thoughts are occupied with figuring out how Gerudo reproduce. It’s the same as you guys,” she adds with a glance to Link. He recoils back under the scrutiny, trying not to be so apparently indignant. _Of course he knew that!_

Ibekwe looks like she’s trying to refrain from sticking out her tongue. Instead she asks Link, “Hey, what part of Hyrule are you from?”

“She’s mute, genius,” Vilia snaps.

“Do you want to start a fight, Vilia?”

“ _Please_ do,” another student in front of Link whispers, swiveling around in her seat. “I’m about to die of boredom.”

Link tries to hear what’s going on in the front of the class. There’s a drawing in chalk on the board of what looks like a man and woman surrounded by a heart. Given how Vilia and her classmates talk of the class, he can only imagine how horrible it really is. He doesn’t remember this sort of a classroom from a hundred years ago.

Link tugs on Vilia’s sleeve to get her attention and then gestures to the front of the room and shrugs.

“You wanna know what this class is about?” When Vilia interprets his gestures, the surrounding Gerudo all snicker. Even Vilia gives a faint smile through her veil. “It’s called ‘Voe and You’ and it’s Hylian horseshit…no offense.” Link shrugs as the surrounding Gerudo give another snicker. “Maude will say otherwise because she got her education from a cholera-infested toilet, but it was part of our trade agreement with Hylians. None of us actually want to be here.”

When Link gives her a confused look, she continues. “Okay, basically what happened was…before Calamity Ganon like….destroyed the whole world or whatever, Hylians and Gerudo didn’t have any formal trading laws and they apparently didn’t really need them. After the Calamity, everyone got a little tense—”

“A _lot_ tense,” Ibekwe interrupts. “My grandmother got into a fistfight with a Hylian merchant and single-handedly destroyed our tribe’s reputation.”

“Yeah, so anyway, they made new trade laws. And one of them was this class…apparently we don’t know how to interact with Hylian men.”

“More like, Hylian men don’t know how to interact with _anyone_ ,” the Gerudo in front mutters. “They’re so sensitive. They don’t like it when we’re not all dainty and delicate.”

Link sucks in his lips and tries not to smile. He gestures at himself.

“You’re a Hylian man?” Vilia whispers. Link nods. The Gerudo around him all look worried. Ibekwe falls back in her seat, letting out a huff.

“You’d better not let Maude find out or she’ll _kill_ you.”

“I’m in uh,” Vilia starts, her eyes shifting from side to side. “A similar boat.”

“Maude was educated by a toilet, after all,” Ibekwe explains. “So she doesn’t think Gerudo women can have beards. She’ll have a heart attack if she sees Vilia’s beard. You know what? On second thought, maybe you should take off that veil.”

“I’m tempted. Goddess!” Vilia suddenly exclaims. “I hate this stupid inspector. None of us even knew she was going to show up today. Mehru’s lucky her beard was shaved already. I had to borrow Maisooma’s veil. She’s just been laying with her head down on the desk all day. She feels naked without her veil,” she adds hurriedly to Link.

There seems to be an entire culture in this classroom Link’s not familiar with. He has half a mind to laugh. But then he glances up and sees Maude’s severe face and any amusement in him has suddenly vanished.

“Now, Risa.” Maude’s voice is now clearly audible through the chatter of Link’s classmates. With her attention directed now towards someone closer to the back, the Gerudo around him all shuffle to sit properly in their seats, as if they’ve been paying close attention this whole time. “If a Hylian man were to approach you, how would you greet him?”

Risa, the student under scrutiny, opens and closes her mouth. But Link’s attention is diverted somewhere else. Namely, to the front of the classroom, where their teacher is currently tugging hysterically at her braids and feigning screaming at the ceiling.

Vilia giggles.

“Uh, I would…I would be careful to approach him with my hands open and empty as not to scare him. But I’d still be on my guard in case he was in disguise. I would say something like, ‘Hello, how are you?’”

Their teacher stops her tugging and sighs with relief.

Vilia, however, can’t seem to contain her snickers.

Maude gives a severe glance her way in reply. Vilia replies with her own set of narrowed eyes. The inspector says nothing however to chide her, and instead returns to the front of the class and lets their teacher continue on with the lecture. Vilia and company return back to their gossiping positions.

“I can’t believe Ashai is so dense,” Ibekwe half snorts.

Vilia, as is customary, turns to explain the situation to Link. “Ashai’s the lovely lady in the front who usually teaches us when Calamity Ganon’s spawn isn’t here. All of Gerudo Town except for her knows Risa is madly in love with her.”

“She’s been failing the class on purpose to stay with Ashai every year,” the Gerudo a seat in front continues. “That’s why Ashai was freaking out when Maude called on her.”

“Honestly, who doesn’t know how to properly greet a Hylian man?” Vilia snaps. “Obviously, the most appropriate way to handle one is to stab them in the throat.” Link gives her a petrified look. “Not you, don’t worry.”

“That concludes today’s class.” As Ashai’s voice rings through to the back, Vilia and her friends go silent and snap back to facing the front. “Please have read through chapters, uh, fourteen through sixteen for tomorrow.”

Vilia turns back one last time to Link, whispering, “No one in this room owns that book. We used it for a bonfire on the first day.”

Everyone begins to shuffle eagerly out of the room. The minute Vilia and Link walk out the front door, she unties the knot behind her head and tosses her veil to another Gerudo.

“Much better,” she sighs. Now Link can properly see her wide, bearded grin. Her face is charming and warm and reminds him of the motherly look Urbosa used to give him. Vilia certainly possesses the same amount of cynicism as the late champion.

After a couple of steps, however, Link realizes that his host still hasn’t come back. He shifts from left to right, trying to see if she’s anywhere nearby.

“Ah, Mehru’s not back yet?” Vilia asks, reaching her arms out above her head in a stretch. “Her in-laws must have killed her. What, did you two have somewhere to go?”

Link answers by pointing to the palace rising behind the streets and streets of houses and shops.

“The palace?” Vilia interprets. “I can take you there! I don’t have anywhere to go. I was just planning to nap. All that gossiping got me tired out.”

Suddenly, Link can’t help but laugh. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that a strict middle-aged woman is no longer glaring at him. Vilia seems surprised at first, but then she breaks into a smile of her own.

She grabs ahold of Link’s hand and drags him eagerly into the crowd. “Okay, come on! Let’s go!”

 

Link is not unaccustomed to bowing to royalty. What unsettles him is the familiarity of the floor he crouches over, the hard feel of thin red carpet on his knees, the way the sun shines brilliantly through the open windows and the breeze gently caresses the gossamer curtains to swell. It’s like a dream he’s walked through several times but has no control over.

Vilia kneels beside him, moving from her statuesque position only to scratch at her beard.

“Queen Riju will be with you shortly.” This deep voice is accompanied by the tap of metal on the floor. Link dares to glance up. The woman—Buliara, if Link heard correctly—stands tremendously tall, as poised in her short sleeved battle gear as the rest of her warriors with a spear resting beneath a pair of neatly folded hands. Link’s willing to bet, however, that it’s not just this warrior’s height that got her in such an esteemed position.

“Pardon my tardiness.” A voice interrupts Link’s thoughts. It’s child-like but still carries a weight to it. When Link glances over to his left, a short young lady strolls in, wearing a deep navy gown that looks remarkably similar to Zelda’s royal wear, albeit looser and with another family crest sewn into its center. The lady only turns to face them once she reaches the throne, smoothing the long braid over her shoulder.

“A pleasure to meet the two of you. Buliara mentioned you needed to speak to me for…”

Those emerald green eyes freeze and regard the Hylian bowing before her. She smiles slightly, as if she’s just discovered where her playmate has been hiding in a game of hide-and-seek. Buliara’s confusion at her mistress’s silence quickly turns into shock when the queen vaults into Link’s arms and hugs him tightly.

“Link!” Riju squeals, and before Link can appropriately answer, a memory flashes through his mind.

_“Link!” Riju stands so much shorter than Link, amusingly so. But it doesn’t affect the presence she has when she wants something. She grabs onto Link’s arm and tugs repeatedly. “You promised!” she whines, tapping her feet. “You said you’d buy me shaved ice today!”_

_Link uses his free arm to wipe the sweat off his brow. He has errands to run, but she makes a good argument for something cool. He flicks his eyes upwards and then exhales, as if to say, “Fine.”_

_“Yay!” Riju buries her face into his chest and hugs him. When she pulls away to look at him, she squeals, “You have to get me khus-flavored!”_

_Link rolls his eyes at her. As if he could forget his little sister’s favorite ice flavor._

By the time Link realizes he should be hugging her back, Riju has already pulled away. She’s no longer the little bratty sister he never wanted, but a teenager at her full height (which is, unfortunately for her, still rather short).

“My lady,” Buliara interrupts with a cough, looking offended. “Please…”

“Oh, relax, Buliara,” Riju sighs, waving her hand at her. “He’s like my older brother…well, actually, more like younger.” She gives him a wink. “I’ve got ninety years on you now.” Before Link can pull away, she grabs his cheek and fusses with it, cooing, “You’re like a little baby.”

Someone hasn’t changed in the last one hundred years.

She folds her arms and takes the seat of her throne, looking between him and Vilia. For a moment, Link had completely forgotten about the woman accompanying him. “So what is it?”

Link glances briefly to Vilia. She shrugs in response.

“Ah, yes,” Riju sighs. She extends one of her short arms at Buliara and snaps her fingers. “Buliara, if you would please fetch me a pen and paper. Link has trouble speaking sometimes, and I would never allow such a special guest to feel uncomfortable.”

Buliara gives her queen a hesitant glance before finally acquiescing to her request and disappears behind one of the curtained thresholds. She returns after a few heartbeats, presenting a pen and parchment to her queen with a slight bow.

Riju flips the paper and pen at Link and says, “Go ahead. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Link glances up hesitantly, hearing the curt tone in the queen’s voice. But he takes the paper and begins to write, uncaring of whether it’s neat or not. He _does_ have a lot of explaining to do, and Riju was always able to read even the messiest of Link’s writing.

When he finishes, she takes the paper and reads it over, running cursory eyes along the letters.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Zelda,” Riju begins. Her voice is strained. Link knows that tone, the one she’d take to when she was clearly upset but knew her anger was misdirected. He doesn’t blame her.

“And…” she adds with an inhale. “I believe you. And I trust you to help us with Vah Naboris. But right now, we have to prepare for the Molduga Ceremony.”

If it had been another outsider crouched before her, she might have had to justify herself. But Link remembers the Molduga Ceremony. It would have seemed silly to put a ceremony before the weight of the world, but to the Gerudo, there would be no world without preserving the desert’s ecosystem.

“It’ll only delay us by a day,” she adds, feeling the need to justify herself, anyway. She smiles. “You can enjoy the city until then. A lot has changed in the last one hundred years, you’ll find. I’m sure Vilia here would be glad to show you.”

“It would be an honor, my queen,” Vilia responds graciously.

 

By the time they leave the wide open hallways of Riju’s palace, it’s nearly sundown.

It is that odd hour of twilight, the threshold at which lazy afternoon becomes the rich, lively evening. Gerudo stir at this hour from naps, having forfeited wakefulness after enduring hours of unbearable heat. With the sun down, the marketplace, the spas, the schools all open up once more with no sun to deter them from their work.

In a hundred years, the marketplaces of Gerudo Town haven’t changed at all, to Link’s comfort. They are still rushed and crowded, each stall covered in its own uniquely tailored cloth and hand-painted signs. The handicrafts and ingenuity of the Gerudo hadn’t wavered one bit in all these years. Link sees the traditional clothing and jewelry lining the stalls, but also new medicines and strange devices crafted together by the younger and more inventive Gerudo.

The cocktail of candle-lights at stalls, chains of lights trailing across posts and magic light spells floating or otherwise held in containers keeps the dark at bay. It’s as bright as it would be during the day.

Link suddenly feels someone’s hand clasp around his own. He looks up and finds that the hand belongs to Vilia. Link thanks the Goddess it only _seems_ like it’s as bright as daytime, otherwise she might be able to see the blush dawning over his cheeks.

“Wouldn’t want my guest to get lost in all this commotion,” she explains with a wink. Link hopes it’s a cover for her own embarrassment, but he doesn’t bank on it. He lets her lead him through the crowd silently, trying to absorb as much of the merchandise as he possibly can.

“We’re just going to stop for shaved ice, and then we’re heading straight to Mehru and Efe’s place. Those two must be worried sick about you.” She sighs. “Oh, and if you want anything, it’s on me. Just try not to bankrupt me.”

When Vilia finally stops at the shaved ice stall, Link takes the pause in their hurried stroll to scrutinize the wares around him. Across is a jewelry shop, filled with some cheap trinkets in a box with the more expensive and genuine stones held on display in a glass cabinet. Link shuffles over in his long dress, trying not to attract the attention of the shopkeeper.

She manages to notice him, anyway. “Yes, young lady?” she greets eagerly. “How may I help you?”

The stare of the shopkeeper is enough to scare Link away. He can only give a cursory glance to the display before giving into his anxiety. When he turns, however, he finds Vilia standing behind him with a cup of colorful ice in each hand.

“Here you go,” she offers with a lick of her own ice. Link graciously accepts it and chooses to focus on the mixed flavors of rose and khus and kala khatta instead of the expectant look of the shopkeeper. “Do you want anything?”

Link hesitates. But eventually he shakes his head.

“Oh, look at that,” she says nonchalantly, ignoring his head shake. Vilia leans over the display, pointing at exactly the topaz earrings Link had been eyeing. “Can I see that, please?”

The shopkeeper slides the glass box open and procures the earrings with a set of delicate fingers. Vilia uses her free hand to assess their weight, picking one of them up and holding it against Link’s ear.

“Try it,” Vilia says with a mouthful of ice.

Link obliges, if only to end the spectacle of a young Hylian fumbling nervously as fast as possible. Once the earrings sit securely on his ears, he turns his head side to side to show them off.

“You look cute,” Vilia says. She doesn’t see Link blush as she turns to the shopkeeper. “What do you think?”

“She’s right! You look adorable, darling!”

“Of course you would say that,” Vilia answers monotonously. “You’re trying to sell it to me.”

“True.” She shrugs.

“Okay, how much then?”

“I think eighty rupees is reasonable.”

“Eighty rupees?” Vilia scoffs. “I could make those myself for less. It looks like it’s worth about fifty.”

“Fifty? You might as well rob me, woman. Look, I’ll give you a ten rupee discount since you’ve got a Hylian guest with you.”

Their haggling continues on, voices melting within the throng of the night-time crowd. Link looks up at the night sky, speckled with stars as if a reflection of the jewels shimmering in their stalls on earth. He inhales the cool air. A moment of respite. When the horrific memories of losing a crucial battle become too much for him, he looks to the thriving life that survived despite his failings. When a child’s peal of laughter runs past him or a couple walks by hand-in-hand with a new member of their family, he thinks, perhaps, that all is not lost.

 

As Link laps up the last of his flavored ice, he and Vilia finally reach Efe and Mehru’s neighborhood. Nowhere near the inner section, it’s certainly much quieter here with only the occasional laugh or shout from a dimly lit adobe. Efe’s house is one of such, and Vilia knocks firmly on its door without hesitation.

A moment later, the door opens to the anxious face of Mehru.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!” She embraces Link so suddenly that his empty cup clatters to the ground. When she lets go, she continues with a huff, “I ran to the palace, but I couldn’t find you. Efe said you were probably fine, but I was so worried.” She turns to Vilia, hand still protectively on Link’s back. “Thank you for taking care of him, Vilia. Please, come in,” she adds, ushering Link through the doorway.

Vilia, Gerudo herself and knowing better than to refuse Gerudo hospitality, doesn’t even pretend that she has somewhere else to be, although that would certainly be the more polite thing to do. Link figures she’s long past the point of caring about etiquette when doing so would only lead to the same result.

Mehru leads the two of them inside, shutting the door behind them. Dim light peeks through the threshold leading to the living space. Link can hear Efe murmuring and Dalia giggling from the bedroom.

Link’s face contorts with horror when he sees that Gerudo outfit still splayed over the floor. Worse yet, at the same time he notices its presence, Vilia erupts into a gasp.

“Oh _ho_ ,” she sings, on the edge of laughter. She springs towards the shiny chains daintily, one hand held politely over her mouth. She bends down and picks it up by the fingertips, as if what she’s touching is a poisonous snake or someone’s dirty underwear. “What have we here?” She waves it around, smirking a devilish little grin at Link. The boy can only blush with embarrassment under her mischievous stare.

“Leave the poor boy alone, Vilia,” Mehru sighs. “He’s already endured enough torture from Efe.”

“Not a chance,” Vilia replies, without a hint of remorse. “I won’t let you live this down. I’ll be on my deathbed and the last thing I ever utter will be, ‘Remember that time Hyrule’s glorious Champion fell for the Gerudo Outfit ploy?’ How could you even think that anyone would wear this in the desert? Did you think we all wear layers for fun?”

“Vilia,” Mehru sighs again.

Seeing the tearful look over Link’s face, Vilia finally relents. “Oh, all right.” The top chimes as she flips it in her hand. “You should do something useful with it though.” She wraps it around Link’s head and then steps back. “See? It doesn’t look so bad like that.”

Link scrunches his face in disgust.

“Okay, enough,” Mehru chides, snatching the thing off Link’s head. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?” Link shakes his head.

“Cardamom tea, please.” Vilia takes a seat against a floor cushion despite not being offered. Link quietly takes the seat next to her.

“At this time?”

“Mehru, you have no idea how many kids I need to put to bed when I get home.”

Mehru just snorts sympathetically and leaves for the kitchen.

Link, with his legs crossed, busies himself with the loose threads of his dress. Vilia takes the pause to admire Mehru and Efe’s decorative efforts—and the efforts to clean up after their sudden guests.

“Here you are,” Mehru says, sporting a tray. On it sit two clear glasses of water and one porcelain cup and saucer. She places the tray between them and sits opposite them, taking her glass of water in her lap. Vilia, after taking a sip of her drink, sighs and turns to Link.

“I don’t have any kids myself,” she doesn’t hesitate to explain. “But I’ve got three nieces and one baby sister…Oh, and one cousin,” she adds. “If _anyone_ is the reincarnation of Ganondorf in this life cycle, it’s that child. Goddess help her mothers.”

Mehru chuckles into her water. “I’ve got one and frankly, that’s more than enough.”

“To be fair, Dalia is the equivalent of twelve children, so I can’t blame you.”

Their voices begin to blur with Link’s surroundings. The boy, despite his eagerness to listen, can’t help but feel a sudden onset of drowsiness, like a monster pulling him in against his will. And just like that, his head slinks to the side, on Vilia’s shoulder. The last thing he feels before drifting to sleep is Vilia’s comforting hand patting his cheek.

 

_“Keep your back straight, chin up, like you’re in a fighting stance,” Pari goes on, adjusting Zelda’s posture as she speaks. “Keep your hands up like this. And now follow me. We’re going to do basic steps. Tap your right, then left, then right and then with your left, press your heel into the ground.”_

_Zelda stands in a dress that reaches her knees with tight pants that bunch up at her ankles. She follows Pari’s lead and holds her hands palm down beneath her chin, around the level of her breast with her elbows out. When Pari begins to sing the melody, she stomps her feet into the ground as instructed, the bells around her anklets chiming with each step._

_Link sits back and watches with the rest of the Gerudo, much too shy to learn the dance as Pari offered._

_On the other end of the cliff, another Gerudo sits, wrapping her anklets around her leg. The way her arms shake and fumble as she tries to align the bells properly makes it apparent how nervous she is about the ceremony. From what Link had heard, this was her first time._

_The dancers for the Molduga Rebirth Ceremony could not be anything but the best of their kind. And on top of that, they needed to be incredibly agile to contend with the Molduga. They needed a combination of grace and wits about them to make sure that neither they nor the Molduga would be injured during the performance—something Link had always thought impossible to be contained in one human being. And yet, every year he attended, he was always struck by how skilled the dancers were._

_“The Last Dance, as it is sometimes called,” Zelda reads from one of her texts. As Zelda finished her lesson, the dancer began to climb down the cliff, choosing to perch over one of the rocks below while she prepared for the occasion._ _And of course, Zelda hadn’t spared a moment to open up a book. “Is an ancient tradition among a majority of the Gerudo tribes. Every year, when the cycle of the Molduga begins anew and it is time to lay its eggs and die, the Gerudo send it off with a ceremony. The Molduga is unable to lays its eggs unless it feels vibrations in the earth above. The Gerudo accomplish this by dancing, tapping their feet in the sand and then running out of its range. Once it has finished, the Molduga turns to a pale lilac shade and Gerudo warriors reach down and kill it. Were it not for these warriors, the Molduga would rot in the sands beneath and the vital herbal remedies produced from its body would be lost. In this way, the Gerudo and Molduga’s lives are symbiotic. Only when the Molduga has finally been sent off into the next world in peace does the ceremony end.”_

 

When Link wakes up, he feels like he needs to get up and apologize to Mehru for falling asleep unexpectedly in her house for the second time.

But he doesn’t do that because he finds Riju at the foot of his bed.

She’s not wearing her usual royal regalia, but a long black cloak instead, with a lace pattern on its sleeves. It buttons to about her waist where it spreads out to reveal a plain cotton dress underneath which folds over her knees as she crouches.

When he rouses, she smiles a mischievous smile, pressing her index finger to her lips. Without speaking, she grasps Link’s hand and leads him out of the house on silent feet.

Once they’re outside, she pulls a toothbrush from her dress pocket and hands it to him.

“Please clean your mouth before you breathe near me.”

No “Good morning,” or “How are you?” It seems Riju doesn’t have the patience for niceties when she needs to make up for all their lost time. Apparently that means concentrating all of her cheek into concise sentences.

In the end, though, she does have a point, and Link sticks the piece of wood in his mouth, rubbing his teeth clean. As he brushes with one hand, Riju leads him along the empty walkways with the other. She stops only once they reach a narrow alleyway, bordered on one side by a painted wall and on the other by a tall, architectural masterpiece. Link has very little time to admire the building, however, when Riju drags him through a hidden door on the wall. Through it, is a short alleyway that ends at a simple, wooden door.

Link recognizes this place, but can’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he gives his long-time companion a questioning head tilt. It may have been a hundred years, but Riju hasn’t forgotten how to interpret Link’s silent language.

“Yes, the Gerudo Secret Club is still in operation after a hundred years, and yes, it’s still for kids, and yes, I am part of it because, technically, I am still a child.”

Riju raps her knuckles against the door. An eye slit slides open with a clack.

“Password?”

“ _Diamond in the rough_.”

Without any other exchange, the slit shuts just as abruptly as it opened.

The door creaks open to reveal young Gerudo all gathered around tables in a darkly lit room. Some of them sit across a bar sipping non-alcoholic cocktails, some are hunched over parchments discussing something of urgent importance, while others sit in a corner playing carrom or cards. All of them, however, turn their heads to regard the intruder at the door, like a series of hawks alerted by the shuffling of mice.

The child who let them in closes the door behind them and steps off her stool. She’s just slightly shorter than Riju, although she looks like she hasn’t hit anywhere near adolescence yet.

“What are you doing here, Riju?”

“In case you forgot, Mira, the Molduga Festival is today,” Riju answers back plainly, though it seems everyone’s ears are peeled for this information, not just the child before her. “Which means I’m going to be dragged off into the desert and kept away from the Thunder Helm.” She turns to face the rest of the club. “The Yiga Clan has been eyeing it for a while. There will be warriors guarding the area, but you all know how wily they are, and I need to know you will guard the Thunder Helm more vigilantly than even my warriors.”

One of the Gerudo, a little bit older than some of her companions, stands from the table she once hunched over. “Of course, my queen,” she replies ceremoniously. “I’ll have Hawkeye and Gulabi on watch all day.”

“Thank you, Malika.”

“If I may be so bold as to ask, who is that Hylian with you?”

Riju answers with a crack of her knuckles and smiles. “An old friend who owes me a carrom match.” She glances at Link, who gives her an arrogant flash of his own, as if to say, “You’re on.”

 

It’s been ages (a hundred years, to be precise) since Link has dressed up for anything. He had always preferred the more androgynous clothing of the Chambeli or Baas tribesfolk, but Mehru had insisted on putting him in something cuter.

Link stands in front of the mirror, in a long dress similar to the one he had been shoved in during his stay in Gerudo Town. This one, however, is white all around, with dark blue embroidery. Mehru crouches at Link’s feet, sewing the hem of Link’s dress, so that it doesn’t trail behind him.

“There,” she sighs, breaking the thread with her hands. “All done.”

Link glances down, wiggling his toes. The dress stops now just at his ankles. His hands go automatically to the long headdress trailing down his shoulders as Mehru pats his head and adjusts it in place.

“I just hope Efe was as successful with Dalia as I’ve been with you.”

Link lets out a little chuckle and follows his host out of the changing room.

It seems Efe _did_ have success in forcing her daughter into festive clothes, given that Dalia was currently hanging off Efe’s arms and kicking the air in frustration.

“I don’t _wanna_ wear a dress!” she squeals.

“Don’t make such a fuss,” Efe argues back, trying to secure her hold on her child.

 

Under the morning sun, Link would be burning in any other clothes. But in this traditional wear, with a white cotton veil over his head, he only feels mildly uncomfortable. The wind is as plentiful as the heat of the sun and it keeps him cool despite the spiking temperatures.

Efe and her family are one of the earliest to arrive at the site of the ceremony. A good distance away from Gerudo Town stands a large rock formation—the area where spectators will be able to watch the Molduga and this year’s dancer from a safe distance above. Along one side is a sloping platform for those unable to climb the few ladders strewn about the sides of the cliff.

A few sand seals sit, toiling and rubbing their heads in the sand with their riders standing not far off. It’s still too early for the Molduga to have woken up, which means it’s safe for Gerudo to reach this place without being attacked. Once the Molduga awakens, Gerudo warriors will seal off the area to keep tourists from getting hurt.

Link follows Efe and Mehru up the slope. Dalia’s tantrum still has not ceased, and it’s easier to drag a sulking child up a ramp instead of up a ladder. She hangs on her mother’s arms, weight dropped so that Efe has to use all of her energy just to move.

Once they reach the top, Link can see palm trees lining the cliff and a small pond at its center. It’s just as he remembers the place. A few Gerudo have already laid out mats and dishes. One woman dips her jug into the pond, brown hands swirling in the water as she revels in the brief relief from the heat.

“Hey, Link!”

A young, smiling Gerudo waves from one of the mats. The hand drowns in a sea of demanding children before Link gets a chance to see the owner’s face properly. But considering the voice, it’s probably Vilia.

The minute he looks back to ask Mehru if he can go (Efe is clearly too busy dealing with her own child), she smiles at him and places a hand over his shoulder. “Go on,” she ushers. “We’ll be over here trying to get Dalia to calm down.”

Link nods and smiles, rushing over to save his distressed damsel from an army of toddlers. Thankfully, there is no need to use force, since Link’s appearance has caught the attention of every single one of Vilia’s relatives.

All six children clamber off of Vilia and silently regard Link. They’re all dressed in variations of a similar suit to what the adults wear, albeit in brighter colors.

One of the girls points and squeals:

“Why is she white?”

“Kalani!” Vilia snaps immediately, scooping the child up in her arms, apparently to deter her from saying anything else horrible to Link. “You can’t just ask someone why they’re white!”

All the other children, however, knowing now that Vilia’s hands are caught up with one of their siblings, begin to rush at Link, clambering over him and pulling at him in a similar fashion to Efe and Mehru’s rambunctious child. While it may have been pertinent to run, Link has already accepted his fate and allows the children to drown him without protest.

“Hey!” comes an unfamiliar voice. “Look! You can see the fairy spring from here!”

Whoever it is, however, seems to have had Link’s well-being in mind. The exclamation sends every child toppled on Link climbing down and rushing to the edge of the cliff to where a short old woman stands. Link can’t see anything, except for a vague glimmer in the distance that could have been anything. She has a telescope in her hand, and presents it to the first set of eager hands that reaches out towards her.

The woman glances up at Link. She lifts a hand at Link as if to say, “You’re welcome.” Link just smiles at her.

Now that the kids are sufficiently distracted, Vilia and Link can finally have a proper conversation.

“How are you, this fine morning, Link?” Vilia gestures for him to come join her on the mat. When he sits cross-legged beside her, she grabs a fistful of his cheek and shakes him. “You look _so_ cute in that dress!” Link can only pout in reply. For once, he’s grateful he has absolutely no heat tolerance, since his blush could just be chalked up to the heat instead of embarrassment.

“I was afraid I’d be stuck with my entire family all morning,” she goes on. She’s clearly excited to be here. ( _To be with him?_ Link muses hopefully) “But I should have known. Efe and Mehru are always three hours early to everything. Ibekwe!” she suddenly calls, waving to a Gerudo strolling up the ramp. The Gerudo looks familiar to Link and waves back. She begins to sprint towards Vilia and Vilia to her. As they meet each other in an embrace, Link can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

“Oh, hey!” Ibekwe says at the sight of Link. “It’s you! Are you enjoying your visit in the exotic—” she pauses and waves her fingers for effect. “—Gerudo region?”

Link and Vilia laugh.

“Well, now that your boyfriend is here—”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Ibekwe, _ugh_ ,” Vilia grumbles. “I think that Voe and You class is getting to you.”

“Oh come on, are you as dense as Ashai? It’s so obvious he has a crush on you.”

Vilia snorts and glances at Link. “Yeah, right.”

The two pause and stare at Link. When he doesn’t protest, the face of realization dawns over Vilia.

“Oh, _shit_.”

Link quickly regrets remaining silent, however. Vilia’s talkativeness, her eagerness, her entire demeanor towards Link shifts to ice cold. He had wanted her to know, but if it meant breaking off their friendship, Link would have rather never had this conversation. As more Gerudo join their group, Vilia continuously ignores his presence, only ever acknowledging him with an awkward sideways glance. As the place fills, teeming with Gerudo and Hylians and a few Rito and Gorons, Link shifts from being with Vilia, to being in some vague place in the crowd.

He has half a mind to re-join Efe and Mehru, but he doesn’t want to deal with their sympathy.

“Hey, Link, why are you moping all alone?” The hand on his shoulder is too small to belong to anyone but Riju, and when he turns, he’s relieved it’s her. There’s only one person he’d rather be with now.

“Come to my palanquin and we’ll talk,” she says, as if Link has a choice when she drags him with her. Her dragging was always annoying, but it was endearing, too, whenever he needed her.

Riju drags him, all the way to the other end of the cliff. It’s still a good view of where the dancers will perform, but not too close to the center where the growing crowd is. A few people gasp or cheer when the Molduga’s fins crack the surface of the sand. The pathway to this cliff must be closed off by now.

“Come,” Riju offers, parting the curtain to her palanquin.

Link scrambles inside. It’s nice and cozy but not too humid or stuffy with the curtains letting the breeze pass easily. Before Riju can open her mouth to council him, the curtain parts to Buliara’s concerned face.

“My lady,” she begins.

“Yes, yes, there will be scandal if a Hylian man is seen sitting in my palanquin with me,” Riju snaps. “It’ll be in the Hylian papers. What is that one called again? Useless Gossip?”

Link snorts, but it’s enough to send a sour-faced Buliara away.

“Okay,” Riju begins, pressing Link’s hands. “What’s wrong?”

For a minute, Link doesn’t say anything. Riju seems to know it’s not because of his muteness, otherwise she would have offered him paper. He’s being hesitant, and Riju only watches him patiently until he can find the way to communicate his embarrassment.

Link gestures towards the pen and paper lying behind Riju. She reaches back with one hand, not letting go of him with the other, and hands them to him.

“Oooooh,” Riju sings in a tease once she finishes reading. “You like Vilia.”

Link frowns.

“Okay, sorry,” she laughs. “I’m sorry she stopped talking to you. But if I know anything about her, she’s probably just shocked. I know she’ll be fine in a day or two. I don’t think she knows how to stay upset with anyone for more than a few days.”

“Look.” Riju grabs Link by his shoulders and pivots him into sitting in the opposite direction. “The ceremony is about to start and you should just enjoy it. It’s been a hundred years since we got to celebrate and now we finally can.”

Her voice goes quiet. “You know, as the years went by I became more and more hopeless. I know Hylians don’t live as long as we do, and by this time I thought you would have been dead anyway. Even if you had somehow survived that attack a hundred years ago. But here you are.” With her sitting behind him, Link can’t tell if she’s teary eyed or not. If she is, she quickly blinks them away before Link can glance back at her.

“The dancers this year are Ashai and Misha.”

Link remembers Misha as the hesitant young woman who had danced for the first time a hundred years ago. But he hadn’t known that Ashai was a dancer as well as a teacher.

Link glances down. Both of them stand on the same cliff, facing each other. Misha’s hair is cut short now but otherwise looks the same as he remembers her. Ashai is no longer wearing the black cloak she had sported yesterday but now wears what the dancers usually wear: a long billowing dress that reaches just past the knees and fitted pants that bunch up together with rows of bells at the ankle. Their feet are bare and painted with henna.

“Here they go.”

At the top of the cliff sit a series of musicians. As they begin to beat their drums, Misha and Ashai start tapping their feet in sync with the music. They hit the earth hard, bells chiming.

Their hands move from side to side, palms flipping between the sky and the earth ever so fluid, as if the two dancers mean to impart the wide, rocking ocean from between their fingers. They mirror one another in unison, deviating only from this perfection when they twirl in circles, dresses billowing out, spinning, spinning, spinning. The music begins to fade into the sands, in the background as the dancers take the front and all that’s left is two colorful pinwheels revolving below.

Misha is the first to step off her safe spot, jumping with her hands extended. Link can see the sand shift towards her and clutches his dress in anticipation. But Misha has probably performed this dance dozens of times and takes her spot back on the boulder with equal grace. As she does, the Molduga erupts from the ground behind her, eliciting applause and screams from the crowd.

Link’s trance is interrupted only by the soft chatter from a group of folk not too far from Riju’s palanquin. He instantly recognizes Risa among them.

He can’t make out what any of them are saying at first, though it seems they all have the same intent despite their differing races.

“Hey, Risa, isn’t that your girlfriend down there?” A few snickers follow the question.

Link can see that frown from all the way over here.

“Shut up, Garini,” she snaps. “I didn’t think you came all the way here from Lurelin Village just to investigate my love life.”

“Why not?” the same person responds. “When your love life is the most interesting relic this side of the desert?”

His rebuttal sends a few of his friends into hoots of laughter. Risa, on the other hand, doesn’t appreciate it. But she says nothing and folds her arms in disapproval.

“Oh, lighten up, Risa,” a Rito chimes. “At this rate, you and Ashai will get together in the next life.”

Risa snorts.

“Oh, I love this part,” Riju suddenly whispers. Link tries not to make his inattention to the dance obvious and blinks back at the dancers below. He doesn’t have to feign for long, however, when Riju says, “Gerudo Town gossip. The best part of the Molduga Ceremony. When will Risa express her true feelings for Ashai?”

Link laughs slightly.

Down below, the dance continues. Link has seen it a handful of times, but no matter how many times he’s seen it, he is always enthralled by the performance. It’s like watching a top spinning, no matter how mundane, there is always some innate gracefulness that keeps onlookers entranced.

As the Molduga emerges once again from its sandy ocean, Link can see that its skin has paled significantly. He estimates the ceremony is about half-way over.

What Link really considers a miracle is how the dancers have hardly broken a sweat with such excessive exercise and the morning sun hovering over them. Ashai and Misha jump to and fro with as much vigor as the beginning of their dance.

As Ashai steps into the sand, however, she stumbles. Her knees buckle and she falters, collapsing onto the floor. The crowd collectively gasps.

“She’s bleeding,” Riju remarks briefly. Sure enough, when Link glances down again, there’s clumps of blood beneath Ashai’s feet. Riju moves forward slightly as if to whistle or otherwise urge her warriors forward. But it’s unnecessary. Two of the warriors on their sand seals are already spurring their mounts towards Ashai, who’s now half on her feet and attempting to limp towards safety. Misha jumps to the opposite side of the rock, tapping her feet furiously to distract the Moldgua’s attentions. At this point, the music has dissolved into silence.

Link isn’t sure exactly what happens to make the crowd collectively gasp again. The Molduga is still a safe enough distance away, though it certainly won’t stay that way for much longer even with Misha trying to keep it away. He realizes the reason for the audience’s protests when he sees a Gerudo clambering down the cliffs to where Ashai kneels.

It’s Risa.

Riju sighs. “That woman is ridiculous. She’s going to get herself killed.” Riju parts the curtain behind her and opens her mouth to shout. She is silenced before she can speak, however, Buliara has already made her way to the edge of the cliff, following Risa down.

When Link and Riju glance back to the cliff, Risa is perched over the side of it. Her sleeves are rolled up, and her hand grasps tightly over wherever the cliff will give her way. She’s nearly at the bottom of the cliff. At this point, Misha seems to have given up trying with her distraction and sprints over to her dance partner.

Ashai, unfortunately, is much heavier than her lithe companion. Misha can’t muster the strength to half-carry her to a safe cliff. She doesn’t budge, however, not even with the Molduga surfing towards them at an alarming speed.

Just when it seems like they’ll be hit—Riju tries to cover Link’s eyes in some sort of derisive gesture conveying the age difference between them now—Risa jumps in the way.

The crowd collectively gasps as Risa is hit, body flying back towards the cliff. Link flinches as her body connects with the wall and goes limp in the sand.

“Buliara!” Riju snaps reflexively, though she knows her guard is already rushing down the cliff.

“Wait!” Misha snaps back. Buliara is just on the edge of the sand but freezes in her spot. Of course, after hitting Risa’s body, the Molduga would assume nothing else to be above its sandy home. If they stay still, they can wait to move once there’s more distance between them and the Molduga.

Meanwhile, forty feet above, the crowd begins to part to allow physicians through. Someone Link assumes to be Risa’s little sister or daughter begins to wail.

As the Molduga slides to the edge of its home—spurred on by two of the Gerudo warriors on their sand seals—Misha assists her partner onto the cliff. Buliara dashes straight for Risa’s limp body, lifting her up the ladder towards a sea of hands.

The Molduga is slain. Earlier than it should have been, but the warriors risk this one not laying enough eggs for the cycle of rebirth to continue. At least there will be fresh medicinal parts that would aid with Risa’s recovery. Though Link is far less concerned with the Molduga and more with how this incident will be received by Riju’s countryfolk.

 

Link sits cross-legged in the healing tent. Not here exactly by choice, but he’d rather not leave Riju’s side, and Riju can’t seem to stop obsessing over the idea that this is somehow her fault.

She says nothing, however. Is as silent as Link. But Link can see it written all over her face. It may have been a hundred years, but he can still read his surrogate sister better than he could ever read any book.

Risa lays on a bed of woven date leaves, chest rising slightly with each breath. A physician hangs over her, monitoring her pulse and breathing every so often. They had told Riju she would be fine—she had just suffered some internal bleeding. By the Goddess’s blessing, she had somehow avoided breaking anything.

Link can hear chatter from the crowd outside. Rather than cheer over the slain Molduga, the audience is relegated to worrying over Risa’s well-being.

“Well, at least it was a good show,” Buliara says, taking a seat next to her charge. She’s received with a smack on the knee from Riju.

“Ouch.”

The chatter behind Link only grows more incessant. Until a few folk burst through the guards stationed outside and into the tent. Riju jolts up abruptly on account of nerves. She seems momentarily confused with why she’s standing now, but it’s probably too embarrassing for her to admit she was frightened, so she remains standing idly.

“Let go of me!” A squeal is accompanied with a crowd of Gerudo tumbling onto the tent floor. One of them is Ashai, leg hastily bandaged, teary-eyed child in her arms. She takes the moment where the guards are flustered to jump up and scurry over to the half-conscious Risa.

The physician, who seems to have accepted her fate, lets out a small sigh and raises a hand to the guards. “It’s all right,” she says. At once, the guards settle and help the remaining Gerudo on the floor up, instead of escorting them outside.

All the other Gerudo scurry to Ashai’s side. Link doesn’t recognize most of them, but a few are Risa’s classmates: Ibekwe, the same woman in class who had her veil borrowed, and, Link realizes with a sinking of his stomach, Vilia.

“Is she going to be all right?” one of the middle-aged Gerudo asks. Her hair is a curled mess over her face and she looks as harrowed as if she had just seen Risa’s ghost rise from her body.

“She’ll be fine,” the physician reassures. “I think she’s starting to regain consciousness, actually.”

Riju takes that as an indication to hurry over to the crowd around Risa, with Link and Buliara following closely behind.

Link, too short to see over the crowd of much taller countryfolk, resigns to standing and listening instead. He can hear Risa’s raspy, unintelligible voice as she begins to regain consciousness. The child in Ashai’s arms responds by bursting into tears.

“Mommy!” she screams.

The crowd erupts into chatter. Some of them wails and cries for the well-being of their beloved relative, others chides for doing something so risky. Riju taps Link on the shoulder.

“Give me a leg up,” she demands.

Link has no choice but to oblige, not because she’s a queen, but because no sensible brother would turn away such a serious demand from his sister.

Riju is, unsurprisingly given how her height must condense it all, quite heavy. Link supposes she has to store all that cheek somewhere. The only thing Link currently regrets is not being able to communicate this to her in his position.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Riju whispers, leaning down to his ear. “And because I am a merciful queen, I will forgive you for it.”

Link ignores her comment and tries to shuffle around to see in between the crowd. He was wondering why everyone had suddenly quieted down when he sees Ashai’s hand over Risa’s cheek, which, Link isn’t quite sure given the lighting, seems to be turning a deeper and deeper shade of red.

Risa’s daughter who’s splayed over her mother’s chest lets out a small giggle.

“Thank you,” is all Ashai says at first. The room is tense. “And…if you wanted to tell me you loved me, you could have just said so instead of nearly killing yourself for me.”

“So cute!” Riju exclaims over Link.

“So…does this mean you’ll come over to my place tomorrow?” Risa begins hesitantly.

“She’s been failing all your classes for the last three years!” someone bursts out. Their comment is accompanied by laughter.

Ashai breaks down into a chuckle. “There’s really no need to try and get me out of pity. You know, a part of me was glad you had been failing the last few years. So yes,” she says with an embarrassed smile. “I will.”

The crowd cheers. Ibekwe and Risa’s other veiled classmate jump up and down. The physician is sound asleep in the corner of the room despite the noise. Link doesn’t have long to celebrate, however, when he feels Vilia’s hand tighten around his wrist.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asks. Link feels his heart leap, but he gives Riju a nudge and she allows him to set her down. Vilia’s hand doesn’t loosen at all as she guides him back outside.

It’s near sunset, so there’s still a sliver of light over the horizon. Most of the crowd from the Molduga ceremony is gone. A few folk are gathered over flames in some places, chatting about one thing or the other. One group consists of two Goron, a Rito, a Hylian and a Gerudo, all of which seem to be scholars. Link finds himself far more interested in whatever information they have to share than anything Vilia might say to make things worse.

He’s utterly surprised then, when she starts off with an apology.

“Look, I’m…” Vilia lets out a deep sigh. “Sorry, Link.” He just blinks in response. “I just freaked out. You know, you don’t need to know my entire tragic backstory, but I’ve had a number of Hylian men who’d hang out with me only because…you know…they just wanted one thing. And wouldn’t accept a friendship. So I still want to be friends with you if that’s what you want.”

Link doesn’t blame her for that. It’s entirely understandable. His heart begins to lighten.

“I understand,” he says softly.

Vilia gasps reflexively. But rather than ogle and send Link back into uncomfortable silence, she hugs him and laughs.

“Does this mean we’re, like, best friends?”

“Comfortable,” is all Link can say to explain. But when Vilia parts from him, he can see over her brightening, bearded face that it’s more than enough.

“Come back, and next time I’ll buy you an even prettier set of earrings,” she promises. Vilia returns back into the tent with a wide smile over her face. Link smiles back at her, until he sees Riju coming out of it with a grave face.

He knows that face, from all her tantrums a hundred years ago. She’s about to cry.

Link rushes over to her, face concerned. Before he can ask her what’s wrong, she explains.

“The Thunder Helm has been stolen.”

Her voice cracks, and Link, reflexively, wraps his arms around her. For a while, he just holds her, using his chest to soften her sobs so that no one else can hear or judge.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Riju’s cries hush at that. She lifts her head from her sleeves and stares at Link with wide, teary eyes.

“You’ll help us, won’t you?”

Link smiles.

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t usually like to add a bunch of commentary after my work, but I feel like this warrants some, so here we go. Pardon the giant wall of text.
> 
> Originally, this fic was really just supposed to be making fun of how ridiculous everything surrounding Gerudo Town is, and it was supposed to be short, but unfortunately, I got carried away and added a bunch of things without giving much thought to how everything would play out (15k words??? Really, Farah??? Really????). So this fic isn’t really what I’d like to see in a Zelda game with the Gerudo race, but more of how I’d use the existing elements in Breath of the Wild to create something less orientalist and more funny. I realize this fic isn’t subtle at all, but neither is this fandom with its racism so…might as well use fanfiction to be bitter and cope.
> 
> I’m just sad that there is so much untapped potential for writing about Hyrule’s races, but of course everyone chooses to focus on Sidon’s two penises instead of the potential for some kind of Caribbean-inspired mythology surrounding the Zora and their relation with Lurelin Village or something. Not that I’m surprised. Just sad.
> 
> Also. I’m normally down with criticism of my work, and while I obviously can’t stop you, I’m not really interested in criticism of this fic. I don’t really care about it and I still don’t understand how it reached the length it did. It’s basically just supposed to be a giant “fuck you” to every adult that thinks Link in the Gerudo Outfit is hot.


End file.
